Kentucky Home (5 page)

Mal looked up at Keith, who suddenly had a guilty look on his face.
Oh,
she thought.
Oh.
“Did you keep Peanut out of the stables today because you knew I would be working there?”

Keith blushed. He blushed! It started in his neck and worked its way up and around to his ears. Very cute.

He looked at her, his eyes warm and green and questioning, and for a second she thought he was going to lean down and kiss her. She sort of hoped he would.

Abruptly, he stood up straight, turned on his heel, and went out the door.

There were a lot of things Mal knew she shouldn't be doing. She shouldn't be lying to a perfectly nice family in Kentucky while her practically ex-husband pined away for her in his own maniacal way. She shouldn't be letting Miss Libby do her laundry or cook her meals without pitching in, although she was not entirely sure that one could be prevented.

The main thing she definitely should not be doing, though, was lusting after her fake fiancé's surly older brother.

He was rude and practically mute and really seemed to think she was an idiot.

But then he kept the dog out of sight because he knew she was afraid.

And he had really big hands.

Dammit.

Well,
she thought as she shoved her feet into her shoes and followed Keith out the door,
the least I can do is make myself the smallest burden possible
.

She walked down the two steps from the kitchen door out into the yard. Libby's vegetable garden was to her right; maybe she could help weed later.
First things first, though,
she thought, walking toward the stables.

Keith was nowhere to be seen. But she did see the guy in the dirty hat who'd taken Peanut out. Peanut was also nowhere to be seen.

“Chase?” she asked, shielding her eyes from the afternoon sun.

He looked up at her curiously, then his face broke out into a million-dollar grin. He was tall and lanky, maybe even taller than Keith, with high cheekbones, a sharp jaw, and bright blue eyes that lit up when he smiled.

Was every man in Kentucky handsome? Did other women know about this?

“You must be Mal, Luke's girl.”

She stopped in her tracks. “Well, I don't know if I'm his girl, per se.”

“Sorry, Luke's woman?” He had a slightly bemused smile on his well-defined face. He was laughing at her. Or with her? She wasn't really laughing, but somehow, this guy made her feel like she was in on the joke.

“I like to think I'm my own woman.”

“Oh, that's right, you're a Yankee. Sorry, let me put on my Yankee manners.” He shook her hand firmly. “It's nice to meet you, as equals.”

“You don't think Kentucky women are equals?”

“Sure I do, but I'm not going to tell them that.”

She wasn't sure if that was sexist or charming. A little of both, probably. “Listen, I was wondering if you could help me with something.”

“Sure, little lady.” Now he was definitely teasing her.

“Knock it off, cowboy.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

She smiled. Ma'am. Nothing can make you feel old or disheveled like someone your own age calling you “ma'am.”

“Chase, are you familiar with Peanut? The dog?”

“If you're talking about the three-legged mutt who tried to help me dig fence posts all morning while I tried to keep him from tripping up my horse, then, yes, I am familiar with Peanut.”

“See, that's what I'm talking about. You don't usually take Peanut to, uh, work with you, do you?”

“No, ma'am,” he said, starting to sound a little skeptical.

“Did Keith ask you to do that today?”

He was definitely skeptical now, if his charming face was any indication. “Yes.”

“Do you know why?”

She swore she could see the gears turning in his head as he pondered whether or not he should admit that he knew about her fear of dogs, and potentially sell out his employer, or play dumb. He didn't look like he was very good at playing dumb. Apparently he wasn't.

“Yes, ma'am,” he said slowly, narrowing his eyes at her a little.

“That's why I need your help. I mean, if you have time. I can't let Keith disrupt his, I don't know, workflow, because I'm afraid of his dog. I mean, I appreciate it a lot. But he has to stop.”

“So . . . do you want me to talk to him?”

“I think we both know that won't do any good.” Chase nodded. “The only way he's going to stop accommodating my fear of dogs is if I'm not afraid of dogs anymore.”

Chase blinked at her. She was smiling brightly, as if she was just suggesting something obvious, like the best way to get rid of your thirst was to have a drink. She could tell he didn't like where she was going. She had to talk fast.

“So I was thinking, since you're a farm guy and stuff, and you're pretty good with animals. Do you think you could, like, introduce me to Peanut? Just a little. I think if I get comfortable with him, it will be OK. Or at least Keith won't have to worry about me.”

“I don't really think it's my place to—”

“Chase, I'm begging you. Everyone around here is treating me with kid gloves, like I'm, I don't know, a delicate flower or something. I'm not.” She sighed. “But I am afraid of dogs. So if I could just get comfortable with this one dog—”

“Well, I don't really have time, Mal. I have a lot of other things to get done today.”

Her face fell. “Oh, of course. I didn't think about that. Sorry, that was selfish. You're right, I'll just, ah, OK. Sorry.”

 

 

Chase watched her walk back to the house. No wonder Luke was marrying her; if this was what saying no to her was like, he didn't think any man would ever be able to deny her anything.

He headed back into the barn to tell Keith that Luke's fiancée was starting to get ideas.

 

 

Mal did not go back into the kitchen. There was nothing for her in the kitchen, not since she could see Miss Libby working at the sink. Mal wouldn't even be allowed to dry a dish. There was definitely nothing for her in the stables, not unless she wanted to be scowled at. She wished she knew how to ride. This would be the perfect time to saddle up and ride 'em out. Or was that only for after you've robbed a bank?

She sighed and started to walk, not entirely sure where her legs would take her, but needing, well, distraction. Keith was just as high-handed and manipulative as Michael was. Maybe not as smooth about it, or maybe he was smoother. If she'd never discovered that he'd put Peanut out, then he would have that to hold over her. When really, it wasn't a good deed. She was afraid of dogs, so he should keep dogs away. Common decency. You don't have to be grateful for common decency.

That was a favorite saying of Michael's. He had used that one ever since she'd met him. The first time was in the dorm, in college. They had ordered pizza for an American History study session (it wasn't really a
study
session, what with the late night and the proximity to her tiny twin bed). When they were done eating, she cleared up the paper plates, taking the pizza box out to the big trash can in the hall. When she came back, Michael was leaning against her bed, taking notes from her notebook. She was a much better note-taker than he was. Especially since he went to only about a third of the lectures.

“You're welcome,” she said sarcastically, picking up a stray napkin.

He put down the notebook, reached for her hand to pull her down. She kneeled next to him, their faces level.

“Babe, I paid for the pizza,” he said, cupping her face. She had to look at him or it would seem like she was pouting. “It's only common decency that you should clean up. You're not owed any thanks when you do something that is just common decency.”

That was not the most ridiculous thing she'd ever heard in her life, surely. But there was something about it that was so absurd, negotiating gratitude, keeping a tally of whose turn it was to do a good deed. She laughed—just a little one, but stopped when she saw Michael was serious.

“Fine, if you're going to be moody about it, I'll just go.” He gathered his notebooks, shaking off her protests and her restraining hand. “You're welcome for the pizza,” he shot back at her as he slammed the door.

Mal sat in the midst of papers and textbooks, staring dumbly at the door. They were just supposed to eat pizza, study, then make out. How had she screwed this up so badly? How had it ended with her studying the Civil War alone?

It didn't, really; Michael had taken her notebook.

Mal shook herself out of her reverie. She had put up with an absurd amount of emotional manipulation from Michael, and she wasn't going to do it again. Still, she couldn't keep herself from thinking about Michael and what he must be doing back in Maryland. He was in that big new house all alone—she wondered if he'd kept the decorator she had hired, if he was going to stick with the “touch of fabulous” she had been talked into for the master bathroom. She hoped, although she knew it was foolish, that he had forgotten about her, or at least moved on. Bunny Ashton-Pierce seemed poised to help him move on.

She tried not to spend too much time thinking about the improbably named Bunny, she of the fake boobs (Mal's were bigger, if not perkier) and the bottle blond hair done right (Mal was no competition there). Bunny of the spray tans and the charity auctions. The last time she had seen Bunny Ashton-Pierce was at a Botox party where she only shut up about how the laugh lines were her husband's fault—he was always such a cutup—to get an injection in the corner of her mouth. Mal didn't quite remember Dr. Ashton-Pierce being a cutup. More of a handsy perv with an apparent fondness for natural breasts, but she'd sat silently in the corner, hoping no one would notice her since she was not too fond of needles and, frankly, had earned every damn laugh line on her face. Not that there were many. More of a fine suggestion of a laugh line to come.

She didn't have as many wrinkles around her eyes as, say, Keith did. But it was different for a man. Keith looked rugged with wrinkles, just like he would probably look distinguished with gray hair. Jerk.

Anyway, Keith was a bully, just like Michael. Oh, maybe he wasn't as outright manipulative as Michael was, and he didn't seem to have Michael's temper, but the way he patronized her, tested her with crappy (literally!) chores, kept Peanut away without telling her. The last thing she needed to do was put up with another bully.

Mal stopped just short of the fence she was about to run into. She was pissed off, mostly at Keith for treating her like she was an idiot. No, mostly at herself for allowing herself to be treated like an idiot. Anyway, maybe she was overreacting to Keith—the last time he'd seen her with the dog, she had practically thrown up in his lap.

No. She shook her head, determined. The minute she started rationalizing his behavior, that was the minute she lost control of her life again. She wasn't going to let another man have that power over her, not since she had finally taken these few tentative steps away from Michael. Besides, what was Keith to her? Nothing. He was her fake future brother-in-law, just some dumb hick farmer with big hands and a nice butt.

Dammit.

She stopped suddenly at the sound of Peanut's high-pitched bark. Mal had practically walked right into him, but he was on the other side of the fence.

She froze.

Then she looked at Peanut, his wet nose poking between the wide boards. He got down low, digging with his one front paw, leaning over to his side, trying to burrow beneath the fence. His tail was wagging manically. It looked like his butt was going to take off.

It was sort of funny. Sort of cute. Peanut wasn't scary. Just, well, energetic.

“You're nothing but a big bully, too, you know.” Mal thought about how long she'd been afraid, how she'd cross the street when she saw her neighbors out walking their dogs. Little dogs, who couldn't attack her restrained on a leash and, even if they could, could do nothing more than bite her ankles. She rubbed the scar on her chin. She had been a kid. That dog was old, sitting in the sun, and she was just petting him. No, she was trying to get him to play, but he was old and wanted to sleep. Now she could see it clearly, the dog trying to inch away, but she kept tossing him the ball, pulling his collar when he wouldn't chase it. So he nipped her chin and scared the hell out of her. He hadn't really hurt her; she needed three stitches and had a scar smaller than some people's acne scars. She hadn't known anything about dogs, still didn't. Except now she knew to leave them alone when they wanted to be left alone.

Peanut, clearly, did not want to be left alone.

During her reverie, Peanut had calmed down. He sat looking at her, panting, his front paw on the fence rail. It sort of looked like he was smiling.

“You're pretty cute for a bully, aren't you?”

He tilted his head, giving her that curious dog look.

Mal took a deep breath. Even if she didn't become best friends with Peanut, she couldn't have every member of the Carson family, and apparently everyone who worked on the farm, spending their energy keeping her and the dog apart.

“How about a truce? You don't eat me, and I won't throw up every time I see you.”

Peanut let out a little bark.

“OK.” She took another deep breath, steeling herself. She took a step forward, letting Peanut smell her hand. She must have smelled good, because he licked her. She flinched back and Peanut jumped off the fence and took a step backward.

“Oh, OK. You didn't mean to scare me. You're just being a dog. Dogs lick.” She wiped her hand on her jeans. “No offense.” She smiled ruefully. Peanut took a step toward the fence.

Mal squatted down, stuck her hand between the rails. “Can I pet you?” Peanut shoved his head into her outstretched hand. “I'll take that as a yes,” she said, and began to stroke his head. When she scratched behind his ears, Peanut flopped to the ground, his three legs in the air. “Well, there's no need to be such a slut about it.” But she laughed, and reached through to scratch his belly.